Road Beef, Big Papi At The Pink Pony, And YouOnce upon a time, a site called The Black Table had a regular feature entitled Waxing Off, in which women gathered in an online roundtable to discuss issues of the day, and also to make fun of Will Leitch's shoes. And so we got to thinking: With so many great female sports bloggers out there, why not import the idea here? It's just crazy enough to work. So behold: The latest edition of Deadspin's Waxing Off. We found seven terrific female writers who were willing to pen short pieces on this week's topic: Road Beef. Alfonso Soriano has his Keri Wieson, and Jose Reyes has his Bentley Matthews. Allegedly. In the old days they called them mistresses, or groupies, or Me So Horny girls. Today, they're known as road beef. What motivates these enterprising ladies, who know that the athletes of their desires are married, with children and various pets? Let's see what our ladies have to say. By the way, if you'd like to be part of the Waxing Off writing staff, email myself at Rick@Deadspin.com, or Mr. Daulerio at AJD@Deadspin.com.Cari Gervin: Last year, around this time, I was having a beer in a sports bar when a guy approached me. "You a Sox fan?" he asked. "Um, yeah," I replied. I was wearing a baseball cap with a red "B" on it and had my eyes glued to the screen televising the Sox/Indians game. Not much of a stretch. "I met David Ortiz once." He sat down on the bar stool next to me. "Really?" I love David Ortiz. "I love David Ortiz!" "Yeah, I was at the Pink Pony a few months ago, and Big Papi was at the table right next to me. We totally ended up hanging out. I felt bad for his wife though, because he was totally getting it on with one of the strippers." (An aside to all you male readers — as you do never get a second chance to make a first impression, it's best not to mention hanging out in a strip club five seconds after starting to hit on someone. Unless she's a stripper.) I questioned his veracity, but he assured me his tale was true — Big Papi was a big male slut. And despite the lack of evidence, I've just never quite felt the same about Ortiz. Is it surprising that professional athletes, with tons of money to spend and many a night on the road, go to strip clubs, sleep with prostitutes or have mistresses in multiple cities? No. Nor is it surprising that there are so many young women willing to help them. Tangential fame and real money can act like a drug. (Come to think of it, drugs are probably in the picture too.) Still, I don't get it. Stripping and even prostitution make sense, 'cause you're being paid, but to be a mistress when you never even see the guy? Do you really want to end up like Mindy McCready? But in a world where even John Smoltz leaves his wife after 16 years of marriage, I guess there is no hope. Cross professional athletes off my list of potential mates. Cari Gervin is a freelance writer in the South. She blogs about her misadventures in life, love and sports fandom at unwelcomereturn.blogspot.com. ——— The Head Chick In Charge: Being the side piece can be an exercise of pragmatism. Sometimes it can just mean you're a ho. But, truly, men are oftentimes only good for their Chris Cooley parts. That picture was symbolic. You see, that playbook was likely filled with things I don't care about. Complicated things. Which formation do you run to try to get your man to marry you? What's the best defense against cheating? But that thing between his legs? You don't need the Wonderlic to figure that out. And then you just get it however you can. Sometimes, being the side piece is the simplest play you can call. Sex. Then maybe some socializing. Then, definitely, you go your separate ways. See you next road trip. Groupies do have a reputation for having fun. Who wants to be Karen Hill, when you can be Janice Rossi? Karen is the ball and chain. She has to hide your guns and flush your coke. Too much responsibility. Ugh. The groupie gets to be your trophy. You don't call the girlfriend when it's time to wipe your kids' snotty noses and visit your bitchy mother. You call the side piece when it's time to got to Vegas! Which scenario sounds more fun? Yeah, call me when it's time to pop champagne. True, true, Janice got her ass beat in the end. Its not painless messing with somebody else's man — physically or emotionally. It will likely end badly. It will definitely end. All you can hope for is a little bit of fun. Don't knock it. You would do it if you could. If Erin Andrews would tolerate you as her piece of dick in Gainesville, you would wait by the phone. When she called — if she called — you'd do what ever she wanted. She'd make you brush her hair. Then she'd kiss you on your forehead and leave you alone in that $89/night room at the Hampton Inn to carry on with her life. You wouldn't feel quite right, but you would be there for her again next season. You'd settle for being road beef too. The Head Chick in Charge blogs at www.leavethemanalone.com ————- The Steez: If you don't understand "road beef" then you have obviously never seen "Showgirls." I'm not saying girls who sleep with married athletes on road trips are like former prostitutes/drug addicts who move to Vegas to strip in order pursue their dreams of becoming a *real* dancer by sleeping their way to the top or pushing obstacles down the stairs. But if they were, could you blame them? I see this girl (because I've certainly never thrown myself at professional and/or college athlete) as a girl who spends her day working a boring jobs out of a cubicle in an office based in a strip mall (But hey! Free parking!). In a typical hour, she spends 10 minutes in the bathroom, 10 minutes in the break room, 10 minutes outside on a smoke break, 10 minutes checking personal email, 10 minutes reading Deadspin (yeah right), and 10 minutes of actual working. She gets five dollar footlongs for lunch. As the day winds down, she calls her girlfriends because, "sister, I need a drank!" They go to a new upscale martini bar off of exit 143 because the Chilis at exit 120 will be "full of skanks tonight." Realizing she's only got her work clothes to wear, so she makes a quick stop at Town City Mall for a $24 three-piece outfit from Forever 21. She arrives at the bar, orders a cosmo and a chef salad, and lets the memories of the day melt away. After four hours and 12 cosmos, in walks professional sports hero, looking all fine and dapper. She thinks she's innocently flirting, but really she's innocently rubbing up on him. He may have said he was married, but all she heard was "my wife's a bitch, let's get out of here." They go back to the hotel, do a little horizontal tango. He said it was just a one-night thing but she heard, "baby you mean so much to me." She drives herself home and thinks, "Finally! My way out!" And when he doesn't call (because he didn't take her number), the cycle repeats itself. It's sad. I feel bad for her. Or she's just a whore. The Steezinator is a Texas Longhorn fan living in Washington D.C. who knows that no matter what time it is, OU STILL SUCKS. ————- Meghan: When I first got this topic I was baffled. Why would a woman sleep with an attractive, in shape, rich, famous man even though he's married? Really? Really? Contrary to popular belief, women don't approach every sexual encounter with the question, "Do I want a serious relationship or do I want to marry this guy?" Sometimes we just want to have fun and let a hot guy say nice things to us. I'm not condoning getting it on with a married man. But as long as you don't break girl code, I won't hold it against you. Girl code is all about girl friends. You don't swoop in and steal a guy your friend's interested in without permission. You don't hook up with your girlfriend's boyfriend or exes. And if you know your friend's boyfriend's cheating, you tell her. You stand by your girlfriends especially when they are wrong. Sure, if you see a girl crying in the bathroom at a bar it's good form to say "It'll be okay, he's not worth crying over." But other than that, it's not about solidarity with women, it's about your friends. So when a non-friend's taken guy hits on you he's fair game. If he's willing to cheat, he's probably going to do it. If not with you, then with someone else. Sure, it's a bitchy thing to do, but he's sleazy, so whatever. Taken guys have made moves on me before. My responses ranged from politely declined, insulted, hung up on, or tried to reason with them. When I've appealed to their relationship their responses tend to be "I don't care" or "but, really I'm interested in you." Yes, sleazy. Sure, sometimes these women are looking for a meal ticket, and sometimes they're hooking up to increase their celebrity. And sometimes the canoodling's about feeling special and having something hard to get. Sometimes the fornicating's just for bragging rights. Shocker, women brag to their friends. Sometimes, it's about fulfilling a fantasy or wanting to feel close to something you love; baseball, football, music, whatever. And sometimes it's just about sex. Meghan does not condone cheating. And when not hanging out with a friend who thinks that Pacman Jones should use the pick-up line "Want to be Ms. Pacman tonight?" she blogs about sports at http://girlsdontknowsport.blogspot.com ————- Ace: My dad is going to kill me for this, but… Hell yes I'd sleep with Chase Utley if he gave me the chance. I'd document that shit, put it on Facebook and make my profile as public as possible. And while everybody else would be discussing how a nice little Catholic girl could be capable of such blasphemy, I'd be in box seats watching the Phils beat the Red Sox in Game 7 of the World Series. Yes, I know marriage is sacred. Someday I'll probably even make an attempt at it. When you really love a team though, it becomes difficult to resist the urge to jump the second baseman. That being said, these road beef girls are of a different breed entirely. They're not baseball fans. They're fans of sleeping with people's hot husbands. The motivation is simple: attention. They could just as easily bang some married guy in a bar, but it's more badass to ruin the marriage of an athlete. By sleeping with a married man, you have the attention of not only the man, but also possibly his wife. More bang for your buck, pun definitely intended. And let's not forget the one major perk to being the other woman… you can get whatever the hell you want, that is, everything but a wedding ring. Gifts, dinners, and of course, baseball tickets. (Though I'm still not convinced any of these women are interested in the latter.) So the moral? It's only okay if you doing it for the love of the game. Otherwise, you're a whore. Call me, Chase. Ace is a journalism student in Boston with a severe inferiority complex that she suspects only an Eagles Superbowl could cure. ————- Denise Karl: You're asking WHY a woman would fool around with a professional athlete knowing that athlete is married or dating or socially un-available for one reason or another. That's a silly question with a few simple answers. First off, the pro athlete is generally in far better shape than any husband/boyfriend/significant other/friend with benefits. Every scar is a history lesson, every broken bone bump a lasting memory. So don't think for a minute that she's looking at him with visions of white picket fences in her eyes. She looks at him from across the room thinking "You're hot, you're famous, and there are a million women who want you. If you pick me tonight, that makes me better than them." Yep, same as men — bragging rights. And she will brag. "You'll never guess who I was with last night!!" And the show & tell portion of the evening begins, in every graphic detail. We are women. We pay attention to LITTLE details. It's only after the inevitable angry text message exchanges start that a girl will wonder how much money she can make off those "private" photos in her phone that she's already showed off to all her friends like a trophy. If she's not interested in the money (and they're usually not because if they were they'd be 'professionals' themselves), then sure, let's just post them on MySpace for the world (and I mean WORLD) to see. Never piss off a woman with a Blackberry and a MySpace page. You ask why do some women seem to go from one athlete to another until they run through a lineup and have to start on another sport. Most of the time, it's not their fault. While the women may be talking about details, men don't seem to verbalize well. Instead, they fork over phone numbers and just say "Here. Check her out." A woman would never hand over a phone number to a friend. That would just increase the competition. Women like to share gossip, not men. Pro players like to share everything. I guess it's that "team" mentality of theirs. Dee Karl, NY Islanders 7th Woman, www.7thwoman.blogspot.com. ————- Lisa Horne: Groupies. Never understood that mentality, never will. Some chicks are just losers, and like the second-helpings. Do they get a thrill at taking another woman's man? Probably. Insecurity at keeping a man is why they probably do it. If the married man ends up just a one-night stand, she can excuse it by saying, "he's married." Maybe I'm just a little old school. I like greeting my man at the door with a cold beer, a long soulful kiss, and a home-cooked meal sitting on the stove; not one of those bags of ready-meals you throw in the crock pot. Hell no. It's fresh-cut meat form the butcher, slowly simmering in a pot of potatoes and onions, and fresh bread (OK...breadmaker made, but still damn fresh and it took four hours to make!) After he gets comfortable (boxer shorts and old faded jersey), I inform him what football, basketball and baseball (dammit Angels!) games are on, what channel they are on, and pre-program the hi-def wide screen so the games automatically come up. My sweet, hot, hard-working hubby, doesn't have to lift a finger. He has done enough for one day. I never say "no" to him- heck, I like getting my bell rung too. And he wakes up with a smile on his face every morning. Groupies? Ha! If these women married to athletes would take care of their man the way he deserves, they wouldn't be looking for an easy lay-up. My husband gets an easy lay-up by me, and only me; special ordered and custom-fitted, like a Burger King Whopper. Yeah, have it your way, baby. It's my way, too. Lisa Horne is a contributing writer for FOXSports.com and a senior writer at Bleacher Report.